


Pianola lessons at midnight

by qu33r_mister_m4rvin



Category: Frühlings Erwachen | Spring Awakening - Frank Wedekind, Spring Awakening - Sheik/Sater
Genre: I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, M/M, This Is Not Going To Go The Way You Think, im sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-13
Updated: 2020-10-13
Packaged: 2021-03-07 19:01:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,170
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26992576
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/qu33r_mister_m4rvin/pseuds/qu33r_mister_m4rvin
Summary: Georg is running, running and hiding. He goes to the one place where he knows he'll be safe. And the one person he's longing to see finds him.(aka; me projecting my mommy issues onto georg for an entire book :'D)
Relationships: Otto Lammermeier/Georg Zirschnitz
Kudos: 3





	Pianola lessons at midnight

Georg gazed across the room. Across the stretch of papers, pens and desks, that were barely visible in the darkness. The only thing that was, was the piano. It’s lid sparkled in the moon’s light, which came trickling down from the window above, illuminating dust in its wake. Like the early morning sun. 

He crept across the room, before realizing he didn’t need to do that. Not this time. This time he was allowed to be here- allowed to play to his hearts content. The school had (finally) given him permission to practice after class, and didn’t care how long he stayed. So long as he didn’t break a key (Georg’d be damned if he did), he was allowed to practice.

He slowly lifted the lid and placed his sheet music against it. Georg knew he didn’t need them, he knew this piece by heart. But it was rather comforting to have them here. Georg let out a shaky breathe, closed his eyes and began to play.

The melodies floated over him like cool rain on a crisp autumn night. His fingers played the notes before his brain had time to register what measure he was on. God, it felt so wonderful playing. It made his heart swell, and cleared his mind of every worry. Such a beautiful, beautiful escape from the wretched, wretched world. Suddenly, his mother’s voice crept into his mind. A near inaudible murmur.

He missed a note.

Georg tried again. Repeating just the measure. Her voice came back, louder, clearer. A barrage of elephant yelling.

He stopped playing.

His face felt hot and his eyes began to water. Anger and frustration came bubbling to the surface, and he wanted nothing more than to smash that damn piano.

No. No. He couldn’t. Even if he wanted to (and god knows he wanted to) he couldn’t bring himself to break it. He stood up, clenching and unclenching his fists. His mind was whirring and buzzing, like a million screaming voices, and he couldn’t keep them quiet. But he had to, just had to shut them up before they drove him mad.

Georg sat back down, examining the piano, each key, each curve and indent. Each scuff and scratch from over use. He began playing once more, closing his eyes and swaying along with each dramatized note. Although his mind was still loud, the voices had dissipated, having been replaced with joyous music. Georg let out a gleeful laugh at this realization, and continued his playing- pressing upon the keys with so much vigor, that he was sure the noise would award him with a talking to from the dean. It didn’t matter to him, not right not at least. Georg continued his boisterous melodies, humming along with each note and key change. He nearly forgot he was still in the class room, when he felt a nudge on his arm.

Georg let out of his seat, and turned to see a boy standing their. “Otto!” he exclaimed, having hardly recognized his friend in the darkness, “What’re you doing here?”

“Herr Sonnenstich wanted me to come by after school.” He replied, taking a seat in Georg’s stool. His back sailors shirt made him look nearly invisible- and his pitch black hair wasn’t doing anything to help. Georg feared, rather foolishly, that the boy might disappear entirely. He resisted the urge to reach out a and grab him.

“And the only time you were free was at midnight?” Georg asked, raising a brow in mock suspicion. 

“Precisely.” Otto laughed. That seemingly trivial laugh shut up Georg’s raucous mind. He wondered how one boy unknowingly managed such a feat. But his short-lived triumph soon vanished as he noticed his heart’s frantic beating. It thudded so loudly Georg feared Otto might heart it. But if he did, his friend gave no indication of it. Georg straightened his glasses, “You’re sitting in my stool.” 

Otto rolled his eyes, “You and your damn piano.” He said without malice, a small spread across his face, “What are you playing?"

"Wer nur den lieben Gott läßt walten, BWV 93.” Georg replied, letting out a deep breathe. He never liked playing around people. Especially Otto. He wanted (read: needed) to impress him, he needed Otto to like it. He looked up at the boy, who’s gaze was filled with admiration and love. He was waiting for him. Georg lifted his hands and began playing. At first, he made sure his hands were positioned just right, his posture perfect. But once he saw Otto swaying along with the melodies, he let himself relax. 

Georg closed his eyes and let himself become washed up in the music. Let himself become consumed by it. Drowning in a sea of sharps and flats, rests and key signatures, he took a breathe of air once the composition ended. His gaze fell on Otto, trying to gauge his reaction. The boys eyes stayed closed for a few moments, before he opened them, “Why haven’t you let me hear you play before?” He asked, a mere whisper.

“I didn’t think you’d like it.” Georg confessed, rather sheepishly.

“Play it again.” Otto walked over sat beside him on the stool. Their close proximity made Georg flush, and his already frantic heart’s beating seemed to increase by a million.

He shook his head,“No, I can’t play it again. It’s a movement, you need to get right to the end.” 

“Then show me how to play it.” Otto pressed. 

Georg smiled, taking Otto’s hands in his own, and placing them upon the keys. The contact sent sparks through his body, “Start here. Then..” His voice trailed off as he guided Otto through the first few measures. The boy’s pacing was absolute rubbish, “Thats way to fast- Otto, no, see? Like this.” Georg laughed, tightening his lose grip on Otto’s hand. He ignored his brain’s spiraling thoughts. With Georg’s help, Otto wasn’t a rotten player. The melodies were a little choppy at times, and the notes weren’t very clean, but Georg found his playing quite pretty. The song came to a close as quickly as it had began. Georg lifted his hands from Otto’s, “That wasn’t to bad.” He smiled.

He’d expected Otto to move, but he didn’t, “Much less jolly.” He responded with a sly grin.

“I told you- you can’t play it twice.” Georg reprimanded. They stared at each other for some time. Georg wasn’t quite sure what answers Otto wanted to uncover in his eyes, but whatever it was, he didn’t find it.

“I best be going.” He stood up, breaking eye contact, “I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow.” Georg confirmed. He watched his friend leave, his heart had calmed, but seemed to weigh heavy in his chest.His mind had begun to scream again once more, and he tried taking comfort in the piano. It was no use, though. For whenever he began to play, he felt his hands intertwined with Otto’s, and his heart ached with yearning. 

But for what, he was unsure.

**Author's Note:**

> i literally wrote this at midnight, and im so sorry that this is horrible- but ottorg needs more content. also, that one line where georgs like, "i cAnT pLaY it agAInnn itS a MOVEMENT" is basically a carbon copy of clive's rant in maurice (1987), and im not sorry. comments, kudos, and critiques are all appreciated !!


End file.
